


Black Night

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The band was playing the Seneca Square Dance; they were in full swing too, the music soaring out to her jubilantly.  But, all she wished was someone would notice her. . .anyone so she could beg them for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Night

“Please, let go of me!” the woman cried, jerking back, and finding him too strong to pull free of. Furious at her own weakness, she screamed directly into his face. “Just let me go.”

“No,” the man growled, pulling her further away from the celebratory crowd, and backhanding her across the face. 

Weeping, fear rising in her, she looked back wishing just one person would notice so she could petition them for aid. The band was playing the Seneca Square Dance; they were in full swing too, the music soaring out to her jubilantly. Every person she saw was either dancing or actively engaged near the bonfire. “Please, Emmet,” she whimpered, dragging her feet, clawing at his hand, and, at her wits end, she struck out, kicking the man dragging her in the back of his leg. 

Stumbling to one knee, Emmet leapt up, his grip never faltering; he spun preparing to strike her again. 

“Why, Emmet? Why will you not let me go? I do not want to be with you.” She cried at his upraised hand. He struck her twice, hard, and the fight fell from her. 

“You will do what I say, Virginia, that is the agreement you signed.” 

She hung in his grasp, sobbing quite literally for all she was worth.

“One day, you will know your place.” He jerked her roughly after him. “Why do you make me punish you?”

“Please, Emmet, please let me go.” 

“What is going on here?” 

Startled the woman spun, as much as she could in her captor’s grasp, “Oh, please.” 

“Good evening, Ma’am, may I be of assistance?” 

“Sir, this does not concern you.” Emmet answered for her. 

Shifting his dark eyes from the rising bruise and blood on her face, Hannibal Heyes felt a surge of disgust roll through him. “Doesn’t appear, the lady wishes to leave with you,” he answered, his tone smooth as velvet but edged in steel. 

Looking into eyes darker than the night surrounding them, Emmet swallowed hard, “My apologies, Sir, but where I come from, we are a bit more conventional than you might be used to. It is not her choice to make.” He offered his free hand to Heyes. “Although I do thank you for your concern.” When he saw the man before him did not intend to take his hand in a supportive handshake, he turned to Virginia, “You will apologize for creating a disturbance and alarming this man, and then we shall proceed on home.”

Virginia looked deeply into Emmet’s face, “I want to go home.”

“Exactly where I intend to take you, my dear.”

“No,” she turned to Heyes, whose face was impassive as a marble bust of Caesar, “I want to go home to my family in Connecticut. I should have never answered this beast’s advertisement for a wife.”

Heyes tipped his hat back. “I’m of the opinion you should let the lady go,” he stated, extending a hand to Virginia. “Right about now, would be the smart move, I’d say.” 

Emmet’s face twisted in revulsion then he viciously shoved Virginia from him. Heyes caught her, passing her back to where he knew Kyle must be, since they had been returning to the festivities together before this interruption. 

Emmet’s eyes darted to Kyle who he had not realized was there until now, and back to Heyes. His eyes narrowed, surveying Heyes, his arrogance and his tied-down gun. “I presume you are both a part of that ruffian element from the hills this pitiful town upholds as heroes.” 

“Might be,” Heyes, replied coolly, crossing his arms. 

“Take the trollop! She deserves nothing more than a low-life such as the likes of you.”

Hannibal Heyes’ jaw pulsated in time with his clenching fists as he imposed an iron-will on his rising temper. 

A sneer as maniacal as any storybook villain appeared on Emmet Thompson’s face. “You have proven yourself ill-bred and ignorant, time and again, Virginia. You deserve to have trash such as this have its way with you. Perhaps, my dear, when they are through you will regret your actions and understand what a good man truly is.” 

She shuddered, covering her pale face with her hands. 

“You hear me, Virginia, you leave here with them, and I will see your good-name is dragged through the mud. Everyone from here to Hartford will know what kind of crib-cage whore you are.”

“Emmet, please, no. . .”

“Mister Thompson, isn’t it?” Heyes said spacing his words out evenly, “I suggest you walk away and let this matter drop. Things will look different in the sunlight.” 

Emmet Thompson squared up like a dog preparing to fight and, stroking his auburn Van Dyke beard, said, “Screw you! The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were nothing more than belly-crawling, yellow, outlaw scum. I will not listen to you; my only regret is I did not sum up that bitch as easily, before allowing her into my home.”

Not a sound escaped Heyes, but with the speed of a diamondback, his right fist struck Emmet’s jaw with such force the man flipped off his feet, landing with a thud. Attempting to recover himself, Emmet scrambled backwards but his efforts were useless for Heyes was on him like he had gone rabid. His fists pummeling the man’s face until spewing arcs of ruby, red blood covered them both. 

Desperate to escape, Emmet jackrabbit punched Heyes in the ribs knocking some steam from him, allowing an opening for him to wiggle free. 

Each of them clambered to their feet, Emmet landing the first blow, sending an explosion of blood flying from Heyes’ mouth. 

Roaring like a feral animal, Heyes rammed into him, driving a blow into his solar plexus, Emmet doubled over, his face turning green. Seizing him about the neck, Heyes dragged the pompous man to his knees. 

Gurgling for air, Emmet clawed at Heyes’ hands and arms. A wicked cynical smile came to Heyes’ face and, flicking his head back, he threw his long bangs from his eyes, bearing down harder. 

When the eerie, familiar click of cocking guns carried over the sound of the two fighting men, Virginia screamed as did several other ladies. The boom of a shotgun silenced everything. 

“That is sufficient,” Mr. Barnett who ran the mercantile announced. 

“Heyes! You let him go!” The dignified old man stood tall and, straight, almost regal, with the smoking shotgun held casually across his arm. “Every one of you boys, holster your weapons. I will not have you spilling blood. Look about at all the innocents on hand.”

Thompson’s men and members of the Devil’s Hole alike, glanced about seeing the many women and children who had been celebrating at the harvest bonfire barbeque and doing so, ashamedly slipped their firearms back into their holsters. 

“Let ‘em go before you strangle the bastard dead,” Preacher said in Hannibal Heyes’ ear, pulling at the man who not just his leader but also a good friend.

Heyes shook his head, the cuts on his face spraying droplets of blood which glinted briefly in the flickering light. 

“Come on now, he ain’t worth the grief,” Preacher pleaded, prying at Heyes’ snapping turtle grip hoping to break it before Heyes broke the rancher’s windpipe. “Damn it Heyes,” Preacher pleaded, looking around for Kid. Giving up, he slammed into Heyes physically plowing him free of Emmet Thompson, and using the momentum, continued shoving at him until he had him on his feet and aimed for the stables. 

Looking about bewilderedly from where he stood with Virginia, Kyle, spied Mrs. Rutledge. Leading the girl over to her, he asked, “Will ya look after her, Ma’am?”

“Of course, I will,” she wrapped a comforting arm around the crying fair-haired, woman. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” She shook her head at the blackening swelling around Virginia’s right eye. 

Kyle loped away after Heyes, Preacher, Wheat, Jenkins, and Lobo, wondering all the while, where was Kid? He thought if Kid had been here this would have all been handled differently. Then it struck him, the lady said she wanted to go home, Back East. Digging into his pockets, Kyle pulled out what he knew had to be at least five-hundred-dollars. It was a good deal of his share from the last job. Rushing back, he pushed it into Virginia’s hand. “Here ya are, Ma’am. Ya go home to your folks.”

She stared at the money, her one good eye shifting to the dirty man, patting her arm gently. 

“Don’t ya say a word, ya just go home.” Tipping his hat, Kyle bolted away, his feet pumping up dirt as he raced to catch up with his friends. 

Staggering to his feet Thompson glared hard at Kyle as the small man slowed to snag the black Stetson from the dust before running on. Taking a breath Emmet bellowed down the street, “Hannibal Heyes is it?! You’re a damn coward and, trust me, I will speak with you another day!”

“Hell, you will!” Heyes shouted spinning and barreling past both Preacher and Jenkins. “Let’s finish this now.” Olly Mathewson stepped in wrapping his long arms about Heyes, pinning him. “No, I don’t think so. You are too pissed and he is simply too little for you to worry over.”

Heyes growled, lunging to break free, the black demon he kept poked down inside of him crawling for freedom and screeching for blood. 

“Sam Hill, Heyes, twisting his head off is only gonna put a murder charge on your poster,” Olly yelled. Grabbing hold of an arm, Heyes had managed to wrangle free and as he did Kid Curry appeared. Quickly assessing the situation, Curry snatched hold of his partner, forcibly herding him kicking and cussing to the livery stable. 

Heyes leaned against a corral pole; his mercurial black eyes staring at the ground in front of him. Kid looked back toward the bonfire confused, “What the hell happened?”

Heyes spit blood from his mouth, shoving his hair back from his face. 

“Well?”

“He had it coming,” was the snarled answer, “and, I don’t feel like talking any more about it.”

“All right,” Kid shook his head. “I’m gonna saddle our horses. You gonna stay here?”

“Yes.”

Kid looked at his bloodied cousin and with a sigh walked on into the barn. 

Kyle fell into step beside him, tilting his head back toward Heyes, and said, “That man back there, he were treatin’ that pretty lil’ gal poorly.”

Kid smiled back at his cousin, “Is that so?”

“Uh huh, he’d been hittin’ her and Heyes he stepped in and. . .don’t recall when I last saw him so powerfully pissed, but. . . ” Kyle looked back toward his leader, spit on the ground, and grinned, “sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”


End file.
